She'll heal. She'll have another scar - or more, bending to look at her ribs is too uncomfortable to be worth the effort - and more nightmares to take her up to the rooftops when she wakes up in the middle of the night anyway. The fear of her the shard in her hand replaced with something new, darker and sharper, knives in the dark. And once she's better she can lose herself in her studies again, slip the mask back on. Like it never happened. Not ever being hard but just...trying to keep the girl that fell through the rift safe should that girl get to go home again to everyone that loves her. So they'll be able to look at her and know her for their Araceli, and not a girl that had bad things happen to her, that made herself strange and cold and different.

"When we rescued the mages in Dairsmuid, no, before, when I went to the camp. They were worried about how much lyrium the Templars had. I understand now. How dangerous it would have been if it had been too much or too little." Less dangerous in the physical fight but still. How dangerous would it have been with them all out of their heads the same way she's been feeling with the withdrawal but full of anger and hate? All of that twisted in a building where even she could feel the pain and death in the air?

Nodding, she tenses all her muscles on the inhale, holds her breath for a shaky count of three then exhales and goes loose as she can so it won't hurt as much as it might. "It's going to scar, no?" Not that she flashes her legs but no one will show her it and she isn't flexible enough at present to really get a good look at the damage so she doesn't know how bad it really is. Her face screws up though, breath whistling between her teeth before she speaks. "Tender. Better than it was but-- si, tender."